


Help A Brother Out

by Wargasms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, Discipline, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Non Consensual, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:33:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wargasms/pseuds/Wargasms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for spnkink_meme PROMPT: spoilers for 6.14 "we did it your way, we let you go explore and every bad thing that I said would happen, happened."  Naughty Sammy doesn't listen to Dean, starts poking around to find out what happened without his soul. But of coarse Dean finds out and what's a big brother to do but remind him little brother who's still in charge. Or "How Sam might not remember all of hell but he officially will never again forget how it feels for Dean to set his ass on fire."<br/>You wanna include some sexy times after the spanking, knock yourself out.(bottom!Sam though in this case please.) Bonus points for crying!Sam</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help A Brother Out

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at Wincest.

Last thing he remembered was getting back to the room. Dean had made him a drink and they’d started talking about the case. Rehashing, really b/c nothing new had come up, they’d exhausted all resources until tomorrow, so Sam... Didn’t actually remember anything that came after.

Sam was a lot of things, in that moment when he realized he was awake, and there was nothing he remembered. Sam was naked. He was lying on his stomach on the hotel bed, hands cuffed behind his back, ankles cuffed to a spreader bar. Sam was even fucking ball gagged. He learned, with a jerk of his legs, that the spreader bar was solidly attached to something, and with a toss of his head, that Dean was not on the other bed. 

Someone was in the bathroom. The toilet flushed then the sink went on. Now it went off, there was a rustling of towel, the knob clicking as it was turned, the door swinging open...

Dean stepped into the room, perfectly well and fine. Nobody followed him; he wasn’t in the least bit shocked to see Sam trussed up on the bed as he was. So, what the fuck?

With closer observation as Dean walked nonchalantly across the room, Sam started to worry. His older brother looked exhausted and... Well, Dean looked like he’d been crying. He wore a white wife beater and jeans, so Sam could see the anti-possession tattoo was still there. Being gagged, Sam couldn’t check with a ‘christo’ so he’d have to assume it wasn’t a demon. Besides, demons like to talk and Dean was simply standing there; watching Sam watch him. Shapeshifter, maybe?

The gait was perfect, prowling restlessly and wordlessly at the foot of his bed, where Sam’s head was placed. There was a pillow under his hips, raising his ass, and his feet we bare at the head of the bed. Again Sam’s fingers tested the cuffs, wrists turning and flexing then finally pulling and fighting them uselessly when he found no escape.

Dean stopped pacing and looked Sam in the eye. With his chin propped on the bed, Sam’s eyes had tracked the movement. Now that they’d stilled, he felt the drool dripping down his chin. Dean’s eyes flicked from Sam’s upward, to Sam’s ass? Then back to Sam’s face before the weary sadness there settled into more of a resolve. Like when he’d decided to say yes to Michael. 

Dean stalked closer now and Sam lost eye contact. He hovered at the side of the bed, just out of Sam’s sight. Sam heard the belt buckle being undone, the whiz of the length of leather being pulled free of the jeans. 

There was an endless moment when all Sam heard was the pounding of his heart before pain blossomed across his lower back, just above the swell of his ass. The sound of the impact hit him second followed by an inhaled hiss from himself.

It couldn’t be Dean, there must be something wrong or it wasn’t Dean. Why would Dean do this if he were in his right mind? 

Whatever the story, it didn’t change the fact that the first blow was not the last. In rapid succession four more landed, working downward until he felt it catch the bottom of his ass and lift his hips with a harder blow than the rest. Sam couldn’t seem to catch his breath, the spreading fire tightening his muscles. The last one sent him bucking and it was minutes before he realized no more had followed it.

Sam made his body still, stop trying to wiggle away from the next one and giving whoever this was the perfect view of his striped cheeks. Once he had, he realized with a deep blush of shame that he was hard. Trapped below him against the pillow, his cock had started to fill and wasn’t he just fucking unbalance?

The bed dipped as Dean sat. Sam could just see his shoulder if he strained his eyes that direction. His back was to Sam, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He spoke to the floor but his words were for Sam.

“It’s always the lying, Sammy. We always go back to the lying and it never ends well. Man, I have lost you twice already. Three times if you count the realizing you were soulless. And I do, because it felt the same,” he stopped there.

Sam could almost make out the hitch of a sob, and he wanted to comfort Dean, even though his mind was still reeling from the fact that it was Dean. His own brother had done this to him for some reason and Sam tried to get out around the gag the question; Why?

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Sam. I figure all the threats aren’t working, time to make good on them. Leave the fucking wall alone, little brother, and I won’t have to do this to you again.” Dean stood, watching Sam’s body as the words sank in. 

Sam had been lying to Dean. Well, just not telling Dean everything, but that was just lying by omission. He felt the shame coil in his gut, tensing his entire body until he felt strung out. Sam buried his face into the mattress and raised his hips. He wanted to let Dean know he understood. He may not agree and in fact he’s epically pissed off, but he understood Dean’s reasoning, and why he would feel forced to this extreme. 

But Sam had guilt, heavy and thick, coating his life since he got Cas to spill the beans. And that was something Sam didn’t know how to deal with, couldn’t seem to be able to leave alone, like a sore you can’t stop worrying. If it weren’t for the fact that his dick was hard as a rock and he was apparently a sick kinky bastard, this might actually have served as some form of penance. Let Dean have his catharsis, if it would make him feel a little less helpless. 

Those were Sam’s thoughts but they scattered like leaves in the wake of Dean’s belt. Each blow landing harder than the previous until the eighth one cracked fierce and punched a cry from Sam’s chest. They didn’t stop though, no, Dean had found an acceptable level of force and was relentlessly covering the area between Sam’s hips and his upper thighs. 

His body writhing in waves, Sam broke. The powerful burn was turning into a blaze. It grew and swelled, until Sam burst like a volcano. He screamed full out and trembled wildly with sobs as tears streamed down his cheek.   
Dean stopped, moving again to pace at the end of the bed. Sam’s face was buried into the coverlet, still crying though his sobs were settling into moans. The pain settled into a buzz but his cock was an arching mess, pillow sloppy with his own precome. He couldn’t control his hips, humping into it, the friction not a relief but a form of distraction. 

Until, Dean grunted. Sam froze.

In the split second it took Dean to move to the other side of the bed Sam fought a war within himself. It was every bit as exhausting as battling Lucifer and he didn’t have the energy boosting demon blood for help. Then Dean again laid into him, from the other side now, no mercy, dragging him from the internal conflict back to the present, to the pain reaching levels too high to process. It bled into pleasure, an overload of sensations that fogged out everything else. 

Sam’s body melted away while at the same time he finally seemed to be more fully IN it than ever before. Possessing him completely, every cell alight and filled with just Sam. Sam raised his hips to meet the next few strikes, then hitching them forward to drag the head of his cock through the puddle he’d leaked. He moaned Dean’s name before each. 

Suddenly, Dean stopped and his hands landed on Sam’s swollen ass, fingertips tracing welts and marks while Sam continued to roll, pressing his flesh into Dean’s hands.

“Sammy,” Dean sobbed and pushed Sam flat, holding his hips still, trapping his twitching cock into place. “I can’t lose you again. I’ll do whatever it takes, Sam, anything you need.”

One of Dean’s hands slipped down along Sam’s balls before letting him up and sliding it forward to stroke him with feather light brushes of his fingertips. He traced the throbbing vein of the underside up to the head, smearing the liquid dripping from the slit to worry the ridge. 

Sam keened deep in his chest, craving something with more single mindedness than the demon blood for the first time in years. Dean gave it to him as if reading his mind. 

Fingers circled his shaft, shifting down to the root then stroking him roughly, “Lisa was right when she called us tangled up and crazy, but she was wrong about something else. I can’t be happy, or anything else for that matter,” he clamped tight around the base, denying Sam of the orgasm ready to spill forth, “without you. I love you, Sammy. Just leave the wall alone, please? After I die you can go crazy man, kamikaze, whatever, but I gotta go first. I can’t do it again. Never again. You need me to whoop your ass sometimes to remind you? I’ll take care of you, Sammy. I got your back.”

When he let up the pressure, his other hand connected open palmed with Sam’s tender skin. Sam screamed and came over Dean’s fingers as Dean fisted him, milking every pulse until Sam collapsed into the mattress, twitching. 

In a euphoric haze Sam felt the cuffs come off, ankles and wrists. Dean’s fingers quickly undid the buckle of the gag and he tried to retreat after helping Sam work it free, a look of uncertainty on his face. Sam’s eyes finally focused and he grabbed Dean’s wrist, groaning as his stiff muscles protested the movement. His jaw protested as well, giving a click as he croaked, “Dean,” before pulling Dean onto the bed. 

Dean didn’t fight; he let Sam settle them so they were lying on their sides, facing each other. Dean searched Sam’s face as Sam scooted closer, pressing his body to Dean’s. Working his knee between Dean’s legs, Sam then shifted his thigh higher until it was pressing against Dean’s bulge. 

Dean whimpered and buried his face into Sam’s shoulder. “I love you, too, Dean. I’m sorry. Thank you,” Sam whispered while working open Dean’s jeans. It was his turn to take care of his big brother.


End file.
